


Are You Finally Silent?

by luckykaos



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, But also, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Talks About Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Mute Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, SPOILERS AHEAD, if you wanna see it as a ship you can, no happy ending, not a sad ending, the lute is played, very slight description of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28237257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckykaos/pseuds/luckykaos
Summary: As Geralt made his way to the tavern, he could faintly hear one or two conversations, muted not by distance, but by the late hour. The half moon had fully risen, and the only people left would be the men who didn't want to go home, and women who were afraid to. But there was one more man sitting in the back, softly playing a lute. A lute Geralt hadn't seen in a long time.Maybe some apologies were in order.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 124





	Are You Finally Silent?

Night had fallen long before Geralt of Rivia made his way into town. He and Roach had been riding for hours, trying to find a place that would allow him to rest. There hadn’t been time for him to get Roach in a stable before the last town had begun yelling for the “damned monster” to leave. He wasn't even sure that this town wouldn’t do the same. But it was late, late enough that perhaps he'd be able to find a room and some ale without much trouble.

As he made his way to the tavern, he could faintly hear one or two conversations, muted not by distance, but by the late hour. The half moon had fully risen, and the only people left would be the men who didn't want to go home, and women who were afraid to. Geralt could also make out a faint melody, most likely a drunk bard, aiming for his last bit of coin.

The barkeep had looked upset at seeing the witcher enter, but did not refuse his coin, quickly filling a mug and placing it in front of the white-haired man. Geralt turned, looking around the room just barely lit by dying flames. The people there seemed too tired to care that a witcher had just entered their space. They were all equal when it came to late nights and a need to drink.

Geralt's eyes were caught by someone sitting in the darkest corner of the pub. They were alone on a stool, no mug in front of them, just a lute in their hands, fingers lightly plucking an aimless melody. Geralt didn't even have to see the man's face to know it was Jaskier. The elven lute Jaskier had gotten was a true rarity, and it seemed fitting that he would receive such a prize on their first “adventure” (For Geralt they were missions, a means to get coin and survive. Only Jaskier would refer to them as adventures. He seemed to enjoy the thrill of them, thrived off it even. He said the inspiration he got out of them was almost worth all the sleeping on the ground, lack of comfort, and general near death experiences.)

Geralt ducked his head at the sight of his not-friend, The last time he had seen the bard had been back at the mountain. Everything had gone wrong, and there was Jaskier, stuck in the middle of his problems once again. Had he been right to fault the bard? No, but he had done it out of anger still. Yennefer had left, he had a Child Surprise he didn't want, Borch had gone on about his _legacy and destiny_ , and like always, Jaskier had started talking. It seemed like he would never stop at times.

_"Damn it Jaskier!"_

Maybe he had been trying to comfort, or maybe lift his spirits with a quip or two, but Geralt had had enough for one day, and the bard had been the only one left. 

_"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!"_

Geralt knew he had been unfair, but it was so easy to use him as a scapegoat; everything had started with the fool singing that stpuid song, _toss a coin to your witcher_ indeed. While he would never admit it, The White Wolf did seem more welcome in towns with the bard singing at his side, and people were more likely to pay him for jobs. (And though he would never say this to Jaskier, or anyone really, he often found himself humming some of the bard's works when he and Roach were riding along, peacefully.)

But now he simply sat at the counter, nursing piss ale and staring at the quiet man in the corner. It was weird to see him that way. When they had travelled together it seemed like the smaller man was always talking, even when he slept. Yet now he was silent, save for a few notes being dragged out of his lute, his fingers moving mindlessly as the melody died over and over.

Geralt supposed it was a good thing Jaskier hadn’t noticed him yet, as it gave him time to think about whether he should apologize- no, that wasn’t right, because he _knew_ he should apologize. He wasn’t that emotionally deficient. The problem was more how he should apologize, and more importantly, if Jaskier would even accept the apology. The line Geralt had crossed would be more than enough for immediate rejection by most, and he didn’t know if the bard’s more emotional nature would make him more or less forgiving than others. 

Geralt couldn’t hear him singing as he normally did (because Jaskier was always singing, even if there was nobody listening, even if it was the faintest breaths, he sang), but it must have been too late for even Jaskier to consider trying to sing. Or at least, that’s what Geralt hoped. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but that bard seemed less jovial than normal. It used to be that no matter what was happening, no matter the time of day, Jaskier had a smile somewhere. Whether it was hiding in his eyes or wide across his face, he was always smiling. But as Geralt looked at his- the bard now, he couldn’t see a single hint of the smile. It seemed to have vanished. And it wasn’t the only thing.

Geralt realized with a drop in his stomach that the notes had stopped too. Jaskier had stopped playing. And he was looking straight at the witcher across the room. His eyes had changed. While still blue, they were dark and angry (they were hurt), however, he hadn’t walked away yet. Instead, he rested the lute against the wall, and… waited. Was he waiting for Geralt? That would be the only reason he could think of. He wished he had more time, but here was Jaskier, waiting; for what Geralt wasn’t sure, but he knew this would probably be the only chance the bard gave him. So, with one last gulp of watered-down filth, he walked over to the silent bard.

The witcher had seen many emotions in those blue eyes - happiness and joy, yes, but he had also seen sadness when they passed a body, far too young, laying in a ditch close to a plague-inflicted town. Anger when villagers threw insults as they passed, concern and outrage when they began to throw objects instead. And the one Geralt hated most: fear. Fear when the witcher’s white hair was red with blood, fear when he stumbled while fighting, fear when an enemy got too close for comfort, fear when they couldn’t be sure Geralt would survive the night. He hated seeing fear in those eyes. No matter how tired he was, he would keep fighting to keep that fear out of Jaskier’s eyes.

But now those eyes were dead. There was no emotion to read, nothing to help Geralt navigate. The bard had always been an open book, but now he was an iron wall, prepared to defend any and all secrets with his life.

Evidently, Geralt had been silent for too long, because now he could see one emotion in those eyes, and it was impatience. It was obvious Jaskier wouldn’t be starting this conversation, so the task fell on Geralt.

“Jaskier. How have you been?”

Nothing. Here was Geralt, the great emotionless witcher, trying to make small talk. Damn the bard. 

…..then again, Geralt had never been one for small talk.

“I wish to apologize, if you will let me.”

More nothing, but the impatience had left. The eyes were simply open, listening.

“I was in the wrong. On the mountain. It was my fault. There is no excuse for how I treated you then. You have never forced me to do anything. We both know I could have left if I wanted, but I did not push back against you. While we both had fault for the djinn-” a raised eyebrow now “-it was only my foolishness that had me invoke the Law of Surprise.” 

The eyebrow went back down. So far so good, but Geralt could not bring himself to look Jaskier in the eye for this part. “You didn’t tell me to seek out the djinn, you didn’t tell me what wishes to make, you didn’t push Yennefer away, and you did not deserve to be blamed. They were all mistakes, combinations of me and the bastard personality of fate. So I apologize for everything I have done to you… friend. If you will still let me call you that.”

He kept his head down. Now his once friend would either speak or walk away, and Geralt would respect whatever was done. But neither happened. Instead there was a hand, hesitant, but it found it’s way to rest on top of Geralt’s. The hesitation hurt more than Geralt would admit, but it was enough. When he looked up, he only saw kindness in his bard’s eyes. (Who was he kidding, the bard had been his since the day he had come up to him with smiling eyes and a cheerful tune.) 

Jaskier was his friend, and he was willing to forgive him. And for that Geralt was grateful.

* * *

The next morning saw witcher and bard together, the former on Roach and the latter walking alongside, smiling. Just as it should be. Geralt hadn’t felt completely at peace travelling after he had chased Jaskier away. What used to be comfortable silence had become invasive, magnifying every footstep, every animal that scurried into a ferocious beast seconds away from digging its claws into Roach’s flank and tearing Geralt into pieces. Now that silence was filled with [ music](https://youtu.be/A9o57CQTHhQ), a quick little thing, bringing with it an air of expectation for the road ahead, anticipation for the next adventure.

Jaskier had remained silent, but it no longer felt awkward. The silence laid between them with ease, not pulling at them to talk or pushing for them to separate. It was a comfortable, mutual silence. But still, Geralt wondered when his bard would speak. He knew that these things took time, because Jaskier still felt hurt, but they were getting better. And he missed his voice. 

He missed the constant chatter. He missed hearing Jaskier make up the raunchiest songs possible, the most exhilarating jigs, and the most heart-tugging ballads. He missed the ballads most of all. When it was dark and all they had was the fire for light, Jaskier would take out his lute and let the peace of the night guide his fingers. He seemed to be so in tune with the world in those moments, speaking for it through his lute. He played for himself, no audience to please, and if Geralt saw tears forming in his eyes, he didn’t mention it.

Geralt decided he wouldn’t push Jaskier to speak. When he was ready, he would. For now Geralt was just happy to have his bard back at his side. How it should be.

* * *

It took Geralt longer than it should have to notice something was wrong. Two whole days to be exact. In his defense though, the warnings were easily written away.

Since he had found Jaskier the bard had started smiling more, slowly opening back up. He was playing more, taking notes in his little nook as he discovered new songs. He often wrote down lyrics, but he didn’t sing them, and he didn’t let Geralt see them either. Geralt knew it would be a while before the bard trusted him again, and he was happy to give the bard time and space until he was ready. He had simply assumed the silence was part of that. Jaskier hadn’t talked to him, but Geralt found that he could still understand his bard. Somewhere in the years they had spent together, some part of Geralt had grown so accustomed to his friend that he could read his eyes as easily as Jaskier could read his grunts. So he didn’t push Jaskier to speak. He thought Jaskier needed more time. 

  
  


He missed his friend’s voice though.

  
  


That's what urged him that night, as he silently sat beside his friend. They were camped in the forest, just a few hours from the next town. Geralt was looking forward to it. He was eager to hear his friend sing again. As Geralt lowered himself in front of the fire, Jaskier raised an eyebrow, but didn't stop playing immediately. The last few notes of his latest thought ended, and Jaskier turned to give Geralt his attention, eyes questioning, wondering why Geralt now decided to sit so close to him. It was true that Geralt normally kept his distance, but he had tried to open himself more, hoping to regain Jaskier’s trust. He understood that physical contact was important to his bard, and that touch should not only be reciprocated, but that he had to initiate it too. It was slow going, but Jaskier seemed grateful at his attempts. 

"Jaskier…"

This was hard. How did he talk to a man who spoke wonders into the world?

"Are we okay? Have you accepted my apology? I'm… I'm trying. It is slow going, but please have patience. I want to… I want to be your friend. Your partner. Your witcher. I want to return to the peace we had, but I want to be equal. I want you to feel as wanted as you made me feel. Feel as…" _Loved_ "...happy, as you have made me. Would you allow me to be yours again?"

A hand on top of his once again. Eyes full of warmth, of trust, of _love_. Jaskier nodded, smiling brightly, accepting of Geralt. He knew what Geralt had been doing, and he knew that it would take time, but that was alright because for once Geralt was actively showing he cared. And that was enough.

Now that he had confirmed his apology though, one question remained.

"Then why haven’t you talked to me yet?”

It is terrifying to watch the very life of someone drain away. Devastation and sorrow rolled in waves away from the bard, and in his eyes the sadness had returned. There was something Geralt was missing, something he had been supposed to notice. Jaskier reached over to grab his notebook, and began to write.

  
  


“The first time you asked for peace the djinn answered you. The second time fate came around and did a much more permanent job.”

  
  


The story came out slowly that night, Jaskier writing in his book while Geralt tried to read over his shoulder. There was a mix of tears on the page that neither acknowledged.

(It had happened two months after Jaskier left the mountain. After Geralt took their relationship and tore it in half, stomped on it and proceeded to light it on fire. It was something that should have never happened, something that happened out of opportunity, something that could have been so easily avoided.

Jaskier had been in a tavern. He'd been relaxed, drinking, not singing ( “ I haven't felt comfortable singing since I left that mountain. Too many of the songs were about you. Too many people had heard my voice crack, had seen how vulnerable I be came.” ).

Just countrymen, with maybe a bandit or two among them. Drunker than a king uselessly celebrating a needless battle. They had demanded a song to go with their beer - Jaskier had refused. In return they cut out his tongue.

No one had helped. No one raised their voice. The only sounds had been Jaskier screams, and the whisper of the knife as it split the bard and his tongue.)

Later that night, long after Jaskier's tears had dried, and he had stopped shaking in his sleep, Geralt allowed the tears to fall. 

When in a situation like that, most people wait and hope that someone will come save them. Had Jaskier waited that way? Had he waited, hoping someone would step in, would help. Had he hoped Gerlat would show up? His bard was a love-filled fool… how long had he waited for Geralt. How long had he waited, watching the door, listening for the sound of metal on metal, to hear panicked cries cut off by Geralt's own blade? 

And when had he given up. When had he stopped waiting, realizing there was no way the witcher would show, would be there to save him.

Jaskier was not the only one to cry himself to sleep that night.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Geralt is there in the nighttime, when his friend feels safe enough to hum and laugh, not needing words to express his joy. Geralt hears attempted murmurs as his friend sleeps, his body talking in his dreams. Geralt is there when he screams, and there when he sings. Geralt is always there, whispering to never leave him again.

People no longer talk of the Witcher and his Bard. A monster and the bird that sings sweetly enough to make people forget and throw their coin. Now there are simply two men. One is a fighter, a man called upon for problems. A man who is tired, but happy. The other simply sits, writing pages upon pages, and playing sweet nothings on his lute. 

**Author's Note:**

> i started this goddamn thing back in january  
> and here we are eleven months later  
> lemme know if the eleven month wait for this was worth it or not in the comments
> 
> also! yes i know the music i linked is played on a violin! but it just felt so right when i was writing


End file.
